The Eldar's Folly
by Angel251
Summary: On Hold. A little action, a little romance, a little jealousy between very different people when a mystic enters the lives of the heroes of the Third Age.
1. A New Ally

A/N: I do not own any of the characters or settings from Middle Earth and Lord of the Rings. All original people are my own. This story is not being written for profit.

            This story takes place from the time of the Battle of Helm's Deep on, but it will have references to past things because the depth of the world of Middle Earth is such that it is required. I have used the lore from the book the Silmarillion quite heavily, since it lists a great deal about the First Age and the Ainur. As the story progresses, I will not use so many references, but for the beginning it is necessary for background purposes. 

            Sauron was amassing great power. She could feel it. She sensed his malignant presence throughout the breadth of Middle Earth, and it troubled her. For centuries she had roamed the lands in peace, bringing healing to those devastated by the Great War. She had been born during the end of the First Age, shortly before the defeat of the dark lord Melkor, called now by the name of Morgoth, and had never faced his wrath, but despite that, she sensed him now. She instinctively recognized his foul taint, for it was the driving force behind his servant, Sauron the treacherous Maia of Aule. Once more, there was disturbance in the land, a dangerous shift in the balances of power, and it strongly favored the forces of evil. As a rule, she tried not to get directly involved with the affairs of mortals; afraid her own power might harm them in some way, and she had not walked among them since the end of the Second Age.

            But times were desperate. Sauron was searching for something, and she was well enough versed in the history of Middle Earth to know what it was. The One Ring. If he found it, all would be lost. She could feel the presence of the Ring, for it was magic, as she was, and she knew it was to the east. It seemed to be heading for Sauron himself, but she sensed that was not its destination, because she could feel the Ring's frustration even from a distance. She had no idea what was taking place, and the only way to get information was to seek it, so she decided to visit her closest friends, her kin: the Elves.  

            She made way for Imladris, Rivendell, but something stayed her, directed her instead to Rohan. A man was there, a man of great importance. He could answer all of her questions and, more importantly, he needed her somehow. She had long ago learned not to question her instincts. The magic that had created her was tied to the very earth, and it never failed her.

            Shadowfax covered ground with amazing speed, Gandalf reflected as the white stallion beneath him surged onward, his stride never tiring. They had been riding for almost two days already, their objective within reach. The exiled riders of Rohan were near, the wizard could sense it. They were desperately needed at Helm's Deep. Though the wizard knew that Elves had joined with Man, the war was not going well at all. The forces of Saruman were too many, and-

            Suddenly Shadowfax slid to a halt, snorting wildly and tossing his great head. Gandalf looked up in surprise, wondering what had bothered the stallion. The animal was looking in the distance, his ears forward and quivering. This was no display of fear, but one of curiosity. Gandalf was mildly annoyed; they had no time for such antics. He was about to send the stallion into a gallop when he saw movement. His gaze followed that of the horse's, and he went still.

            "Greetings, mortal," a gentle, dulcet voice called out, ringing with musical tones that were almost hypnotic. "I knew you would come. I have been waiting for you."

            Standing on a ridge less then a hundred feet away was a being of breath taking beauty. Something he'd heard of in legend, but had never been privileged enough to meet. A unicorn, some would say, but Gandalf knew he gazed upon something far greater then that. The beast was tall, easily seven foot at the withers. Its body was similar to a horse, but more slender and graceful, and it had cloven hoofs and was crowned with a single horn. Whereas unicorns were solid white, this creature gleamed like a new star, a striking shade of iridescent blue, and rays of living sunlight seeming to dance over its shimmering hide. The horn on its brow was not white either, but opalescent, glittering with latent magic. Its mane, tail and hoofs were brightest silver, sparkling even in the waning light. Its eyes were not blue but a glowing green, like the facets of a sun lit emerald. His former compatriot, Saruman, had told him the tale of the Eldar's Folly more then once. It was a lesson to all who wielded magic, a warning of what the abuse of power could cost. And it was somewhat ironic to Gandalf that the treacherous head of the Council had failed to heed the lesson he had forced his fellow wizards to learn. Beneath him, Shadowfax shivered, drawing the wizard's attention back to the present, and the mythical immortal he faced.

            "Greetings, Liathandrial Stardancer of the Vanyar," Gandalf called out, raising a hand, wondering how the Eldar's Folly had known he would come, and why she was waiting for him. He knew better then to question the antics of such a magical creation, however, and so he kept his thoughts to himself, for the moment. 

            The creature tossed its head, its green eyes widening in surprise. "Who are you, mortal? How do you know my name?"

            "I am known as the wizard Mithrandir, and you are known to all of my kind," he answered, bowing his head to the mystic before him. "I regret meeting you at a time such as this, for it is indeed an honor, but I cannot spare the time to make your acquaintance as I would like. I seek the riders of Rohan."

            "They are but a few hours ride to the North," the animal answered, eyeing him in speculation. "You ride a lord of the horses, wizard, yet you are no descendant of a King of the Mark. This must be a matter of great urgency."

            "Saruman, the traitorous servant of Sauron, has sent a dark force to attack the city of Man known as Helm's Deep, and without the horsemen's aid, they will perish," Gandalf explained out of respect, but he was impatient to be off. Time was of the essence. He eyed the beast for a moment, sorely tempted to ask her to join him, but hesitant to do so. She was not of this world, even more then the Elves, and he had not learned enough of her to know if she would be willing to come to the aid of mortals. 

            The Eldar's Folly regarded him for a moment, her ancient eyes thoughtful. She turned her head to the north, and then snorted gently. Shadowfax trembled, and Gandalf frowned, but then the musical voice called out, "You should ride on, wizard. The circumstances are indeed dire. I do not know if you will be able to find your riders of Rohan, but I can tell you this: I will go to Helm's Deep, and do what I can to help your allies. Any enemy of Sauron is a friend of mine."

Gandalf was surprised to feel a moment of joy. He had thought himself beyond such living emotions, at least ones of such intensity. Though his knowledge of the Eldar's Folly was limited, he did know she was purported to possess phenomenal power. She would be most useful, indeed. He desperately wanted to know the reason she had been waiting for him, and why she had so readily agreed to come to the aid of Man, but he had no time for such questions, so he simply bowed his head.

"You have my thanks, and that of the people of Rohan as well," he humbly called out.

            She inclined her regal head to him, and then leaped from the small cliff she had been standing on. She landed so lightly her hoofs didn't leave a single print in the ground. Shadowfax snorted at her, and then bowed, nearly unseating the wizard. She whinnied at the stallion and then lunged into a gallop. She moved with such speed that her body lost shape, appearing to be a ball of golden white light as she streaked across the land at an unearthly pace. She was gone from sight in less than a minute's time, and Gandalf wondered at the extent of her powers.

            Sighing at his lack of time, he urged Shadowfax on, his attention once more on finding the riders of Rohan. 

            It would take her only an hour to reach the city of Helm's Deep, for she ran with the wind, so blessed was she by Sulimo. She was feeling apprehensive, not because of having to take part in battle, but rather because it had been ages since she had come into the lives of Man. She was reclusive by nature, being a unique creature forged more by magic then anything else, and she generally only spoke with the Elves. She did not understand the other immortals of Middle Earth, and Man was completely alien to her in his rash behavior and base, greed driven desires. He had become only a shadow of the noble Edain. She tended to avoid the lands of Man, and now she was in the heart of one. She was unafraid, because fear was not an emotion that was known to her. But she was worried. 

            She had heard of the wizard Mithrandir, for he was an Istari, and older then most men, and he had friends in all kingdoms of Middle Earth. She knew of him from her days in Valinor, where he was known as Olorin, though she knew he did not remember seeing her there, and from his exploits with the Elves. They thought very highly of the old man, and that in itself was surprising, for he was said to be human, and the Elves were notorious for their dislike or, more accurately, distrust of other races. Whatever he was, the Grey Pilgrim was no longer mortal, if he ever had been, though she suspected he was a Maia. Oh, he had a body, and his soul was bound to this plane for the time being, but he was not truly a part of Middle Earth anymore. He was visiting on borrowed time. She was most curious to know the circumstances that had granted him such a privilege.

            As she drew closer to the battle at Helm's Deep, she became aware of a foulness polluting the land. The army of Saruman was comprised of black magic and compelled by evil intent, and it corrupted the very air with its existence. She felt a great surge of anger, affronted by the monstrosities that the dark lord had created. She felt the overwhelming desire to slay them, to rid the world of their hideous presence. She was not violent by nature, but she was nonetheless an engine of destruction by design. Her magic eclipsed the mightiest artifacts, and only the Rings of Power came close to her in strength. The One Ring was another story; it alone could rival her in raw power, for it contained the greater power of Sauron himself. Perhaps it could even enslave her. She did not know, and she wasn't going to go anywhere near that ring to find out. 

            Though she had never met the dark lord Morgoth, she had crossed paths with his servant, Sauron, in the past. And just as his black master had been stronger then the Eldar alone, so Sauron was more powerful then she. Not by any great measure, but enough that he could destroy her if given time. She knew the boundaries of her strength, and knew too that it would take him many years to break her, but it could be done. She was not invincible. No being in creation was, such was the will of Eru, Iluvatar. But she could never be truly destroyed, for her power was not tied to any artifact, but the land of Middle Earth itself, and beyond, to the very heart of Arda, where dwells the Flame Imperishable. The Valar and Valier had blessed her greatly during her days in Valinor, most notably Manwe and Varda, whom Melkor envied and hated above all others. As Sauron was able to remake himself, so was she, though it would take her longer. By the time she returned, Middle Earth could be lost. It was a risk she was not willing to take.

            Lia reached Helm's Deep with ease, tireless as no mortal creature could be. Below her was the dark host of Saruman's army, relentlessly attacking the walls of Helm's Deep. Even from a distance, she could see her kin, the Elves, standing beside Man, giving their lives to protect an ally who was perhaps not worthy of such a gesture, but still the Children of Iluvatar. She looked to the night sky, seeking the presence of Elbereth among the stars. The great Ainur was ever watching over her, more often then even Manwe, for Lia's sire Halthanslay was Varda's most beloved steed, created for her by Aule in the dawn of time. She felt the Lady of the Stars' love, and knew she was protected. Her halo of light shimmered around her until she gleamed as brilliantly as the heavens, a gift from Varda that brought great agony and suffering to the servants of Melkor, who could not withstand the force of her presence without pain. She bowed her head in a moment of reverence, thinking of the great Eru and all he had created on Arda, vowing anew to protect her maker's world from the twisted schemes of Sauron and his dark master.

            When she raised her eyes once more, they were filled with calm purpose and fury. Calling upon the gifts given unto her by Tulkas and Orome, she surged forward to join the battle.


	2. At Helm's Deep

**A/N: I do not own the characters or settings of the Lord of the Rings, only my own original players in the tale.**

** Constructive reviews are most welcome.**

**To Brit: You are correct, the army that attacked Helm's Deep was Saruman's, and though he was servant to Sauron, it should be named as such. Thank you for noticing. As for Lia not knowing who Gandalf was, that's more complicated since I want to explain her abilities in the telling of the story. She has a tie to the land and the Imperishable Flame, and as such she gets flashes of intuition of varying degrees. In this case, she was guided to Rohan to await a man, but she knew not his name or nature until she met him.**

            The Uruk-hai were orcs, but then, they were also something else. They had been tainted with by means of arcane magic, twisted and made into creatures even more sinister and powerful. Lia sensed this immediately. The puppet wizard of Sauron had indeed been most busy. None of this would matter much, for they were still servants of Morgoth and therefore Melkor as well, unholy abominations crafted by a once noble wizard. Lia had heard of Curunir, for he was one of the original Istari, along with Mithrandir. His loss to the darkness was a grievous blow, testimony to the growing strength of the Enemy. 

            She approached the Uruk-hai with all speed, not bothering to neither slow down nor worry about their raised weapons. The dank creatures had their sights set on the walls of Helm's Deep, and did not seem to fear an attack from behind. Whether this was due to foolishness or pride she knew not, and cared even less. They were defilers of Arda, one and all, and she would stop at nothing to destroy them.

            Lia slammed into their ranks as an ocean hits the shore, and they splintered before her like fragments of sand in their surprise. Her aura, a glowing halo of celestial fury, struck them without mercy, and where its brilliant light touched them, they burned. She moved with an unnatural speed, blazing like a star in their dark ranks. Her horn skewered two of the foul things and she tossed them over her back as if they were feathers, their putrid life blood sliding down the length of her horn, sizzling from contact with the lethal spiral. Her hoofs slashed with unerring accuracy, easily piercing through armor and flesh alike. All around her there was chaos and cries of pain as her aura consumed their corrupted flesh, melting it from their very bones, the stench becoming almost unbearable as the holy light destroyed them.

            Through the blood that flecked her face she could see some of the Uruk-hai trying to regroup to launch an attack. She ignored them, choosing to maul those within easy striking range, for she knew the battle would continue to come to her. They outnumbered her and she knew that despite her halo, they assumed they could overwhelm her with numbers. They did not yet understand she was immortal, and would not tire as they were bound to. It was a false sense of victory she would not take from them, for it served to aid her. As she lashed back with her hind leg, kicking completely through the chest of another orc, she looked out over the battlefield, to the distant shape of Helm's Deep. 

            So many were their numbers, these minions of Saruman. They crashed against the walls of the great keep in seemingly endless waves. Already, the high stone walls were being breached by ladders, and she wondered if the battle was a lost cause, for she sensed a much smaller force was defending Helm's Deep, and she wondered how it came to pass that they had chosen such a place to make their stand instead of fleeing. A blur of movement to her right drew her gaze to an orc that was swinging at her head with a battle-axe, the flesh of his arms set ablaze by the power of her halo.

            She watched him come, not bothering to avoid his gruesome charge. He grinned at her in maddened pain, thinking to send her to her death with a fatal blow to the head. His axe swung down straight and true, unhindered and unbarred. It struck her cleanly and with great force, and a horrible shrieking could be heard when it made contact with her flesh. All around them, Uruk-hai whirled to face the source of that awful sound. For an instant, nothing happened, and then the blade of the axe shattered in the hands of the orc, leaving behind nary a mark. He gaped at her in stunned awe for an instant, and then she lunged forward, her horn piercing his abdomen with laughable ease. She twisted her head to one side, cleaving him nearly in two, and then lashed out with a foreleg, neatly splitting another orc from gullet to groin.

            The Uruk-hai fell back from her in fear and awe, not knowing what it was that they faced, but slowly beginning to comprehend that she was a terrible foe. They circled her with watchful eyes; their weapons at the ready, and for a moment she allowed this, for it gave her time to size them up as well. Only a few dozen were aware of her, the vast majority of the black army had not seen her approach and were more intent upon felling the walls of Helm's Deep. She knew with time, they would become more aware of her presence and a greater number of them would turn to fight her, but she had no fear of this eventuality. It would be unsuccessful, as she sensed no creature on this battlefield could harm her, and it would aid the cause of the defenders of Helm's Deep to have their enemies' attention divided.

            She gave a clarion war cry, the sound both lovely and fierce, and then charged at the orcs that milled about her. They fell on her in packs, weapons swinging wildly. But no matter how often their blades fell, they could not shed her blood, and their steel was destroyed upon her glimmering hide like glass upon stone. She moved so swiftly that her body lost focus, her horn shining as it struck faster then the eye could follow, and they fell before her wrath with pitiful cries that she ignored. As the last of the small group fell beneath the fury of her attack, a thunderous roar rolled over the battlefield, and she paused to glance at the fortified city.

            What she saw gave her pause. Where the proud walls of Helm's Deep had once held strong and true, now there was a gaping wound in their imposing height, an open sore that gave free passage into the defenders' city. And in that moment, the Eldar's Folly felt an instant of despair, thinking that perhaps Saruman's army might well prevail.

            From the towering height of the walls of Helm's Deep, Legolas Greenleaf stared in mild dismay at the ruins of another section of the walls. It had been smashed to bits by a great explosion, another display of Saruman's power and intelligence. He had planned well for this attack, it seemed. At Legolas' side his kin, the Elves, fought alongside Man and some had already fallen, some who were friends from his childhood. He was both saddened and proud of their sacrifice, for it marked a coming together of the races, even if it was only for a short time. It had been many years since Elf and Man stood together, and even if they were all to die this day, it would be remembered in history that the races had united to make this stand.

            He was turning to charge down into the mass of Uruk-hai that was breaching the wall when a bright light captured his attention. He looked out over the battlefield, his gaze drawn almost against his will, until it located the source of that brilliant light. His initial hope that it might be Mithrandir faded, to be replaced by a sense of curiosity. The light was coming from what appeared to be a small star. Even with his keen sight he could not make out any details of the creature, for it moved far swifter then his eyes could follow, but it was too large to be Gandalf, unless the Grey Pilgrim had managed to transfigure himself. Which, when it came to wizards, was entirely possible, but Legolas had a feeling that was not the case.

            Whatever was out there appeared to be on his side, for it was striking down the Uruk-hai with savage fury; their black bodies falling in twisted heaps around the shining light. A sense of hope came to him then, though why he could not say, and he turned and ran down the stairs of the wall with renewed vigor, his heart filling with calm confidence once more as he drew an arrow from his quiver and shot down an orc, adding it to his growing list of kills. 

            Liathandrial finished slaying the orcs that had surrounded her, and then dimmed her light, wishing to move in secret for the moment. Already more of the desecrated creatures were gathering to strike at her, but she wanted to get a feel for what was happening at Helm's Deep, and so she fled from them for the moment. She heard their cheers and jeering calls, and for a moment was tempted to snort in mirth at their stupidity. Such simple, battle minded monsters they were. She tossed her head and let out a sharp whinny, and the heavens heard her and sent down their breath. A great wind stirred up around her and she leaped upon it, and it bore her into the sky high above the battle, so that she might see what was taking place in the keep.

            As she had feared, the wall had been completely decimated in one area, and a steady flow of orcs was moving into the fortress. A small group of elves and men had gathered on a hill facing the opening and were systematically picking off the Uruk-hai as they entered the keep, but Lia knew they could not hold out forever. It was only a matter of time before they grew weary and their ammunition was spent. She was tempted to join them at the breach, but hesitated to do so. In a matter of time the orcs would overwhelm the defenders and swarm inside unchecked. Already, they were beginning to successfully scale the walls that were still standing, now that they had managed to destroy part of the keep's first line of defense.

            Lia could see that Helm's Deep was sectioned off with fortified interior walls as well, rather like a citadel. It would be very difficult to take, for as each wall fell, the defenders could simply retreat behind another. She decided against joining them, for in such close quarters she was not free to fight with abandon, as she was on the battlefield. Out here, she need not fear injuring an ally, she could strike without mercy or caution, for none here would die save the enemy.

            Her eyes turned back down to the milling orcs beneath her, and she screamed a challenge to them that was terrible to hear, and the sky itself roared with her, and Manwe sent down great bolts of lighting as she descended upon them. She came back into their midst with all the wrath of the avenger that she was, striking them down before they had time to even raise their weapons to defend themselves. And so it went throughout the night. Lia would slay one group of Uruk-hai and another would rise to take their place. Her shimmering hide became coated with grime, and her mane and tail matted with gore, but she did not falter or grow weary, although she wondered how many more there could be, and if an end would ever come to this battle.

            And then as if Elbereth heard her thoughts, the dawn came, and with it, Mithrandir.


	3. The Return of Mithrandir

**A/N: I do not own LOTR in any way. I do own any new characters that are mentioned. I am mixing both the books and the movies in this story as, for some reason; they do not quite run true to one another.**

**To Brit and bakaneko: Thank you for your reviews!**

**Brit: Everyone enjoys a little violence now and again. Glad you liked it.**

**bakaneko: I wanted to make Lia seem as if she has always been tied to Middle Earth, but not necessarily in the "public" eye. I used a unicorn shape because I love horses (don't all women?). Sorry, I do not have a mailing list, but if I do start one, I'll put you on it!**

            The dawn was just unfolding when Mithrandir appeared, his white form gleaming in the dim light. Lia had ceased to fight, her attention upon the ancient keep, for the horn of Helm's Deep was roaring out its battle cry, and that sound was so great and terrible it captivated even her for a moment. In the distance, she saw the charge of Théoden and Aragorn, and the lords of the House of Eorl as they rode down into the swarming throngs of the orcs, and she felt pride for them in that moment, that they could face death so bravely, and that they could continue to have hope even in the midst of such darkness. And in that instant, she thought that perhaps Man was not so lost after all, only misguided by his earthly desires. 

            Before she could dwell on this much, an axe blade slashed across her brow, drawing her gaze and wrath upon the Uruk-hai that wielded it. She struck him down with a fore hoof and then lanced his head with her horn, the flesh shattering beneath the power of her touch. Behind her she sensed a new presence, something ancient and strong, neither good nor evil, but with a will and desire of its own. So great was its force that she turned to face it, her emerald eyes widening as they flitted across a bleak forest that had materialized from nowhere, and yet stretched as far as the eye could see. 

            Dark was this wood, and yet not of Saruman nor Sauron, nor even Melkor himself. The trees seethed with anger and hatred, for the orcs or all two legged creatures she could not tell, but she sensed their fury. She had seen them before, in distant lands, and walked among them, and they had always been of a brooding nature, for Fangorn was no forest to enter lightly, but the trees had never seemed so enraged before. But then, they could feel her ties to the earth, and so respected her and perhaps even enjoyed her presence, for she was a gifted healer and often used her power to soothe the wounds of the land. She wondered how it was that they had come to be at Helm's Deep, and knew the will of Iluvatar was surely at work in this matter, and that Aule had most likely sent them there, though she could not say for certain.

            The orcs began to waver in their confidence, their eyes darting between the grim forest, the courageous defenders of Helm's Deep, and Lia herself, their eyes filled with doubt and apprehension. She decided not to wait for their misgivings to fade, and attacked them boldly, striking them down with renewed vigor. So troubled were they by the numerous challenges to their ranks that they were barely able to defend themselves, and they fell before her with remarkable ease. And then over the jagged rise rode the White Rider, Mithrandir himself, and behind him was a legion of soldiers, and before him was a great wave of power that at once inspired awe and dread in the servants of Saruman that had seen his arrival.

            Lia sensed his presence and paused to look to the ridge overlooking the crumbling form of Helm's Deep. As he stood there in his glory, again she found herself wondering at the transformation he had undergone since last she had seen him, centuries ago. No mere wizard was he, not that the Istari were something to be dismissed for they were quite powerful, but he had become something more, something immeasurable, and in him she sensed a faint spark of the Flame Imperishable to which she was inextricably tied. She felt great comfort at his arrival, for she had begun to fear that her mortal allies might be failing in their strength. 

            All around her, the earth was littered with the smoldering remains of the Uruk-hai, their twisted and broken bodies piled around her in grim testimony to her power. And still they came at her, driven by desperation now, and their desire to destroy and kill all things of the light. In the hours of the night she had come to learn that though they were physically imposing, they were none too brilliant, bearing more of a resemblance to a rabid beast then a thinking, sentient creature. She knew they could speak and had heard them communicate as they tried to coordinate attack plans against her. But though they possessed the power of thought, she wondered if they had the capability to learn, because they never seemed to realize they could not fell her.

            Perhaps they were hoping for a lucky blow to bring her down, but this was a foolish dream on their part. She knew very well what her weaknesses were, and knew too what things could harm her and what could not. No creature at Helm's Deep posed a threat to her, save Mithrandir himself, possibly, and he was on her side. Not all of the Uruk-hai had witnessed the wizard's arrival, and continued to press on in their attack, one brute flinging himself at Lia, armed with twin swords. She had no patience for his attack, however, for she was most curious as to what Mithrandir was doing on the ridge, so she leaped into the air and met his charge, her horn spearing through his abdomen and piercing through his spinal column with a sickening snap. She tossed his body to the ground and then reared up, shrieking to the sky.

            The winds of Sulimo swept down to encircle her, swirling in a tempest of violent wind that forced the Uruk-hai to back away from her. The few that tried to press on against the wind were lifted into the air and tossed into the sky, disappearing from sight with cries of fear and pain, but she paid them no mind, for all around her the land was trembling, and she could sense so many magics at work that she felt slightly disoriented. The Grey Pilgrim had spurred his steed, Shadowfax, into a gallop, and behind him ran the men of Erkenbrand.

            Below her, news of his arrival spread, and as their cowardly eyes beheld his shining presence, the orcs began to flee, overwhelmed by the presence of so many mystical forces opposing them. In their mindless flight they entered the dark forest, and it destroyed them, slaking its thirst for vengeance on their corrupted blood. Liathandrial felt no pity for them, and was indeed surprised to feel a dark moment of satisfaction and even pleasure at the demise of the Uruk-hai, for a fouler mortal creature she had never met, and she was glad of their passing.

            She turned her eyes once more to Mithrandir, and now he was face to face with the men she had seen make the bold charge of earlier, and among them she saw an Elf and a Dwarf, of all things, and she wondered what to do, for she had not been among Man in ages, and generally preferred it that way, for strife and doom seemed to follow in their wake. Yet now Sauron and Saruman were wielding their power with great malice and strength, and she had dedicated herself to the cause of defeating the black servants of the Enemy as she had always done in the past. Her instincts had led her to cross paths with Mithranidr, and she knew that the spirit of Ea had made this happen, she was tied to the will of the Istari wizard for the time being, and so despite his presence among Man, she must remain near him until she was led to leave. And there were things she would ask him about, answers she wished to know about the strength of the Dark Lord, and the finding of the One Ring, which had been presumed lost for all time, and she heartily wished that had been true, for she could feel its evil at work even now, when for many years there had been a blissful void where the dark ring's presence in her mind had normally been. Of all things in Sauron's service, she feared that artifact the most, for it called to her, as it did to all those with magic, and though she despised it, she nonetheless respected its terrible power.

            And so she ran up among the clouds, her inner light dimmed, and waited for him to take his leave of Man, with the patience of one who has no thought for death nor aging. But yet though he spoke at length with these riders, he made no leave to part from them, and she began to wonder if it would come to pass that she would be forced to reveal her presence to them. She watched in speculative silence as the Men dug graves for those who had fallen in battle, dividing their numbers in two, though it seemed as if there was more of a purpose to this then simply to evenly distribute the fallen to rest. Almost as if two branches had fought in this war side by side. The orcs they gathered into massive mountains and then left their corpses beneath the watchful eye of the heavens, for their numbers were too many to burn and undeserving of burial, lest their foul bodies corrupt the land into which they were placed.

            At last, the wizard separated himself from his companions and made his way to the forest as if to study it. Seeing that he was alone for the moment, Lia descended from the sky upon a brisk breeze, moving in complete silence until she landed beside him, drawing his attention to her. He smiled in genuine pleasure and swept her a bow of greeting.

            "Well met, Liathandrial. I thought I saw signs of your presence out here," the wizard said, his hand gesturing to many of the orc corpses that had been singed and melted by an unseen source. 

            She nodded at him in return and said, "I did what I could to give aid."

            "And to remain in secret," he mused, his eyes thoughtful as it took in the distance from Helm's Deep to where she had chosen to take her stand.

            "I thought it best to battle alone, lest I have to fear striking down an ally by mischance," she replied. "Your arrival was most welcome. I was not certain that the Men were going to be able to hold Helm's Deep, but they showed surprising courage."

            Mithrandir nodded once and gestured at the forest before them. "Do you know aught of this?"

            Lia glanced at the brooding trees and said, "If you mean did I call them here, the answer is no. Such power is beyond me. But I do know from whence they came. They are of Fangorn Forest, though why they are here, I cannot say."

            "It would seem all the allies of light are banding together, no matter how unlikely such a thing might be," Mithrandir commented.

            She cast him a sideways glance, wondering if he counted her among the unlikely allies, but she let that pass for the moment, and said, "I have sensed the presence of the One Ring, wizard, and it troubles me, for it seethes with the desire to return to its master, and I fear it is heading straight to him, for it travels to the East, into Mordor itself."

            At these words the wizard ceased walking and gazed at her sharply, his expression one of surprise. "How is it that you know this?"

            But to this, she had no answer, and so she said, "If you would seek the knowledge of my powers, you must earn audience with the Valar themselves, for they have given me gifts even I do not understand. I will simply say that I can feel the Ring, and I know where it moves."

            Her words rang with truth, and so the Istari nodded and said, "You are right, the Ring is traveling to Mordor, to the Mountain of Doom, where it will be cast into the flame and destroyed."

            Lia considered his words for a moment, and though she did not like the idea of the Ring being so close to its master, she knew such a course was the only way, for in the destruction of the Ring, Sauron would lose a great deal of his power. "It is not the wisest of plans, but it is the only way to ensure Sauron never regains the Ring. I hope you have given it into the care of someone of great fortitude, for the Ring is ever tricky, and will seek to bend the mind of its carrier to serve the dark."

            "It is in the care of hobbits," Mithrandir replied, his face grim.

            Now it was Lia's turn to stare at him in surprise, for she knew of hobbits. Plump, pleasant, peaceful little creatures that had no care in the world and lived for the very joy of it. They were not known for their bravery, and she had long been away from the camps of Man and Elf, and had never heard the tale of Bilbo Baggins, but supposed there was always an exception to the rule. Still, the thought of such jolly beings having to undertake such a horrific task was daunting, even to her. 

            "Do you think that a wise decision?"

            "As wise as could be made," he answered, though his features were troubled. "It is in the care of Frodo Baggins, the Ring Bearer, as pure hearted a person as I've met. The Ring will have quite a challenge turning his will, for he is as simple and good as most of his kind, and hard to corrupt."

            In his words Lia sensed a great truth, born from her tie to the Imperishable Flame, and she accepted his answer, saying, "What now? I know little of Saruman, but Sauron will not take this loss lightly."

            "No, he will avenge this defeat quickly and harshly," Mithrandir agreed, his eyes thoughtful. "Which is why I ride to Isengard to confront Saruman himself. There is much I wish to know, and so very little time."

             Lia said nothing as she pondered this, and he turned to her and said, "You have my thanks for what you have done here, and though many never saw your part in this battle, it will be remembered in tales until the end of time."

            She tossed her head in a dismissive gesture. "I have little care for tales, master wizard. I have been bandied about in more ancient, forgotten stories then I care to recall, though I will accept your thanks and say this: I have decided to pledge myself to this cause, and I will remain with you until the battle is ended."

            It was more then the wizard had hoped for, and his expression was decidedly light. "We are most glad to have you among our numbers."

            She turned to look at the walls of Helm's Deep and then glanced back at the wizard and said, "I will walk by your side, but only if you pledge to maintain secrecy as to my true nature and leave the revealing of what I am to a time of my own choosing."

            Mithrandir looked her over with a questioning stare. "You have my word, lady, but how do you intend to avoid speculation with such a celestial visage?"

            Lia snorted, and there was laughter in her voice when she replied, "With magic, of course."


	4. Athan the Shining

**A/N: I do not own any of the characters or settings from LOTR. Thanks for all the reviews. Sorry it's been so long. I will try to update this more frequently now that I have the time to do so, and a computer that works!**

            "Magic?" Mithrandir asked, curiosity shining in his ancient eyes, for he had performed many feats of magic in his days, but as an Istari he found great joy in witnessing the magic of others. "You call so great a talent as yours mere magic, blessed of the Valar?"

            "All magic comes from the same source, wizard, and well you know it," Liathandrial replied, though she understood the humor he found in her words. "Your own power is no less prestigious, Messenger of the West. Now, I would tell you to turn your eyes away lest you be blinded, but a Maia need not fear being harmed by celestial light."

            Mithrandir said nothing to this, neither validating nor disputing her words, but merely watched her with an intent expression. Liathandrial closed her eyes and reached deep within her, to the swirling caverns of her heart, where there burned a Fire so intense that no will save one could ever extinguish it. Many of the Valar had given her great powers, but none could compare to that priceless gift she had received from Iluvatar himself while she was yet in her mother's womb. 

            The Fire simmered within her always, though it usually remained banked. It was her tie to Arda and Iluvatar himself, and through it she could sense many things, though she could not always understand what she was shown, for the thoughts of Iluvatar were too great for her to fully comprehend, and the Imperishable Flame was in itself no simple living creature, but rather Life incarnate, and its own thoughts were often as not foreign to her, as it was able to encompass the wealth of all existence within its reasoning and Liathandrial was limited to her own finite mind. 

            In years past, the Fire had sometimes called upon itself and granted her great abilities, but more often then not it simply simmered within her, a comforting connection to the world she so dearly loved, and she had to summon forth its blaze at most times when she wished to utilize its power. She always did so with a certain trepidation, for just as the Flame sometimes activated itself without her asking it to, it also sometimes refused to activate when she called upon it.

            The Imperishable Flame operated with a will of its own, and was at times most trying. There had been more then one instance when she could have used the Fire's power, and it had ignored her call. As a result, she had spent a great deal of time imprisoned in the tower of Minas Tirith, when it had been taken by Sauron and belonged to the dark lord Melkor during the First Age. She rarely thought of those days, for they were painful to her in more ways then she cared to admit. She had been but a child really, foolish and impulsive, far too trusting at the still young age of 462, her carefree and sheltered mind easily turned by a face so fair its magnificence was beyond description…Shaking her head, she turned her thoughts from such dangerous reminiscing and focused on the matter at hand. 

            She reached within herself and touched that warm Fire, and it roared to life in answer, bringing with it searing heat and blinding light, so that all mortal eyes which looked upon it were forced to turn away from its resplendence, and she felt a moment of thankfulness that it had heeded her call. Mithrandir watched with alert eyes, for the Istari could now feel the power of the Fire, and he recognized it for what it was. Not just ancient Elven magic, nor the impressive power of the Valar, but something more. Something indescribable and wonderful, and terrible in its limitless power. 

            He felt that energy within him respond to the magic she was wielding, felt his very heart move in the direction of the power she called but seemed to have no control over, and he held himself still through the strength of his will, though he very much desired to move closer to that Flame which emanated from her. He knew then that in her own way, Liathandrial was as dangerous to the world as Sauron, for Melkor would stop at nothing to gain access to the Fire she was born with, and he found himself wondering if she knew…

            White, opalescent fire swirled around her, glittering in the light of the day, and before his eyes, she began to transform. Her sleek, flowing lines diminished and curved, her satin smooth hide gave way to down soft feathers, and with a snap of her new wings, she was airborne. The transformation had been too quick to follow, even for eyes as experienced as his own, but he still felt joy at having witnessed it, for magic had always delighted him where little else in life could, and the magic of the Valar and Iluvatar was a beautiful thing to behold.

            Lia was feeling none of Mithrandir's light heartedness, for a shadow had fallen over her. The moment she had called upon the Fire, she had sensed another being turning its attention upon her, but she had already called upon the magic and was helpless to halt it. While the Imperishable Flame surrounded her with its gentle warmth, on the edges of its reach, beyond the touch of its power, she felt the dark presence of Sauron, and she knew a kind of fear that had little to do with that darkness which haunts man's heart, and everything to do with self loathing.

            She had not paused to think of the consequences of calling on her most precious gift, for rarely did she use it, and it had been centuries since Sauron had been powerful enough to sense her call for the Flame, for she had taken great pains to hide it from him in the past, and thanks to his weakened state she had been successful. Not so any longer, for Sauron's strength had grown to a level beyond her ability to deceive. She could almost see the Eye turning to watch her, and that must not happen, for if he could discover her location, she knew he would send the Witch King himself to attack her. That was a battle she had never been able to win, though the Captain of Despair had never been able to smite her to ground either. Still, he would come, the Morgul-king, and with him he would bring darkness and death, and he would not turn from his course unless she were defeated or fled from his reach, so implacable was he. The knowledge was a heavy burden unto Liathandrial's heart, she would not draw more destruction to these people, not now, while they were struggling to recover from the siege. 

            And so she called upon the Lady of the Stars until a great halo glittered around her, and banished the Eye, and she took to the sky on elegant wings, hoping in her heart that Sauron had not had enough time to discover her location, for though he could sense the Imperishable Flame, it was so powerful that it naturally defied any attempt to detect it in any but a most general means, and, too, the Flame existed throughout the breadth of Arda, for it _was _Arda, and thereby made it virtually impossible to discern her whereabouts. But Sauron was strong, and he had held her radiance before, and so for him it was easier to track her location. Yet the touch of Elbereth forced the presence of the Eye away, for all his might Sauron was no match for the might of a Valar, and she silently thanked the goddess who had been as a second mother unto her. For a moment, she soared through the air, feeling the caress of the wind, her senses slowly shifting, eyes adjusting to their newly heightened capabilities.

            She then turned with a clarion cry and swooped down to the waiting arm of Mithrandir, who nodded his head in approval and said, "You learn to adapt to your new form quickly."

            "Do you think I shall pass scrutiny in this shape?" she inquired.

            "Of a certainty, though I cannot say if you will be allowed into all the rooms of the Keep in this guise," the wizard replied.

            She looked at him with her strange green eyes and said, "I have no wish to be in the rooms of Man, and missing out on one or two will not cause me distress, so long as it does not prevent me from learning the sad tale of how the Ring managed to find its way back into the lives of mortals again."

            Mithrandir turned and began walking to the keep. "That is an interesting tale, lady. It begins with dwarves, ends with hobbits, and has a bit of Smaug in the middle."

            The bird tossed its head in disdain. "Ha, that lizard? He is a braggart and more rapacious then most of his kind, he is easily fooled by playing upon his vanity."

            "Was, lady, was," Mithrandir responded with a smile.

            Again, those endless green eyes turned to him. "Was you say? Has Smaug the Golden fallen?"

            Mithrandir glanced at her now, surprised. "Have you not heard the news, lady? It has been many years, and the dragons I know are great enemies of yours."

            Liathandrial looked away, clearly troubled. "I have been walking this world for countless years, old one, spreading healing where I may, and death where I must. I have not been among Men in decades, and it has been some time since I have had the pleasure of visiting at length with the Elves."

            Mithrandir wondered where she had been that she had not heard of the Battle of Five Armies, but he refrained from asking and said, "Yes, that black hearted creature has fallen, and it was actually a band of dwarves and a hobbit that brought about his demise."

            "Again with hobbits," she mused, staring out across the endless sky. "It seems they are a more resourceful race then I had realized."

            "Indeed they are," Mithrandir agreed. "And a kinder hearted people you would be sore pressed to find. Now, as I was saying, the dwarves needed a burglar…"        

            And so it came to pass that after the Battle of Helm's Deep, there appeared at Gandalf's side a strange bird the likes of which had never been seen. Only large as a common eagle it was, but its feathers were a mixture of brilliant blue and flashing crystal, and its eyes were green as the most precious emerald. And the wizard would not speak of it at length, save to say that it was Athan the Shining, friend of Gwaihir the Windlord, and had joined them to lend aid where it could. And while some men found it unnerving, there were those who looked at the raptor with curious eyes, and others who looked at the wizard and wondered if this creature was but one more secret he was holding from them.


	5. Thandria the Healer

**A/N: I do not own LOTR, its characters or settings. Anything new is mine!**

            On the dawn of the victory at Helm's Deep, it was decided that King Théoden and a band of his men would ride with Gandalf, who had turned his eyes and thoughts onward to Isengard and Saruman. It was not Mithrandir's wish to battle with Curunir, but rather to speak with him, yet the wizard knew that violence might come of such a meeting, and his heart was heavy and his thoughts grim. Though he spoke to no one of this at length, he did mention it briefly to Liathandrial, and she could sense the Istari's unease, and her own thoughts were no less troubled.

            Of all the creatures to dwell in Middle Earth, none knew the temptation of the corrupting power of Sauron better then her, for she had once fallen prey to his clever tongue and sweet words long ago. She had been pulled so far under by the web of his words that she had almost been lost. If he hadn't cast her aside…

            Lia pushed away such musings, knowing them to be dangerous, for the Abhorred seemed to know when her thoughts were turned to him even centuries after she had escaped him, physically at least. Mentally and emotionally, it seemed as if she had never left him behind, whereas she had no doubt he had forgotten their time together at Minas Tirith. Of all creatures living in the world, only three had ever known of that time, and it was something she tried not to think of with any frequency.

            And then, as if in response to her musings, even then, in the light of day, a cold presence touched her for a moment, and with it came a searing pain on her right wing, as if she had flown through a storm of fire, and she knew a moment of fond sorrow. Her keen emerald eyes traced the plumage of her right wing, and beneath the down of her feathers was a faint black mark, a trophy bestowed upon her ages ago, testimony to the most unlikely friendship ever known. Torsyl…

            And now she did force her mind from such reminiscing, and the dull throb in her wing faded and grew still, and her mind was once more on the present. She had seen the great numbers of wounded among the people of Helm's Deep as Gandalf rode into the great keep, and her heart was wounded to the point of agony at the sight of their pain, for she was a healer before all else, meant to soothe the wounds of the peoples of Arda.

            And so she waited, until Mithrandir had gone to reflect on his own thoughts of the future, and she flew from his side and sought out a cloak that had been abandoned in the hall along with a scabbard, and then went on to the darkest recesses of the keep, and there returned to her true form of her mother's blood. This transformation was brief and simple, and because it was one of her birth shapes, she required no magic to undergo it, and so did not have to fear drawing the Eye of Sauron down upon her once more.

            And so from the darkness Athan the Shining had flown into, there emerged the Elf maiden Thandria, though she was known to precious few Elves who did not dwell among the Valar, and none present at Helm's Deep would know of her save by legend, and in those tales of old she was always called Liathandrial, as Thandria was a name she had taken only after departing from Valinor.

            Fair of face was she, her beauty beyond compare by all save the Ainur themselves, with skin of alabaster that bore a strange blue sheen that was so pale as to be almost invisible so that all who saw it doubted what was before their eyes, choosing instead to perceive her as fair skinned alone. She had opalescent hair that gleamed silver and fell to her ankles in untamed waves, and seemed to dance around her heavenly body like a living thing with a will of its own. Most striking of all were her eyes, for they were so green as to shame the most verdant forests, and endless, and full of mystery, so that any who met her gaze would experience a sensation akin to falling. And though she was ancient, her appearance was one of youth. In her hands she held a sword the likes of which had never been seen; a magical blade that flashed with all the colors of the rainbow, its spiraling slender length as beautiful to behold as it was dangerous to touch, and it glowed in the shadows like a new star, even as she slid it into the scabbard at her side.

            And Thandria then hid her beauty behind the cloak she had sought, so that the face which had inspired endless Elven sonnets was shrouded in darkness, and she passed from the hall without being noticed by all save one, and made her way to where the wounded rested. Thus it was she discovered that though Man and Elf had fought side by side, once the battle was over, each race had gone their separate ways, so that the wounded were littered about, and she was forced to walk a great length to see to them all.

            And the very first of them she sought to help greeted her with suspicion and hope at once, for they were leery of her cloaked figure, but desperate for any healing that might be given to them. And so time and again she was forced to reveal at least part of her face, and then while they gazed upon her beauty in rapt attention, she would lay her hands upon their wounds. And one and all she healed, from the most insignificant scratch to the most terrible death wound, all that she stroked beneath her fingers grew whole and healthy, and yet the maiden herself grew tired as her power was drained, and she knew soon she would have to rest, for healing drained her very essence, as the giving of life was so much more difficult then the taking of it. And those who saw her knew magic was surely at work, and whispered among themselves of it.

            As she walked among the wounded, the Horses of Rohan who had lost riders in the battle and were alone began to draw near to her, sensing her true nature as all beasts of Arda were able, so that a host of the proud animals followed in her wake, though they were careful to keep a respectful distance. And because her mind was turned to healing the wounded, Thandria took no notice of them, for they bore no evil will toward her and thus she paid the horses no mind.

            This was not the case of others, though, and Eomer Son of Eomund who had been seeing to the comforts of those wounded in battle, first beheld her thus: a small shape clothed in darkness and walking in the wake of a herd of horses. And his hand went first to his sword as he took note of her odd clothing, thinking her an agent of the Enemy. But then his puzzled eyes landed on the Horses of Rohan, and he relaxed, for he knew the noble steeds would not tolerate such an enemy among them. And as he watched, he saw how she traveled from man to man, her hands bestowing healing with the lightest of touches, and he marveled at all the strange things he had already been witness to in such a short time, and it seemed this woman was but one more of them.

            Eomer was not the only one who had taken an active interest in the woman. Legolas Greenleaf had noticed her walking in the halls of the keep, and finding her dark clothing suspect, the Elf had followed her to the tents of the wounded. He had not relaxed his vigil when she healed the first man, for he had been surprised to feel a faint surge of magic that was distinctly Elven and yet…different. He had no idea who she was, but he did not yet wish to give away his presence, and so he had followed her in silence.

            When he had caught a glimpse of her face, he had known in an instant she was an Elf, though she seemed shorter then most of his kind, and there was an unearthly quality to the shape of her face that suggested she was not an Elf at all. _Vanyar. _That was his first thought upon beholding her radiant beauty, but how was that even possible…

            Legolas was aware of the moment Eomer first saw her, for the young lord stared at her as if to devour her with his eyes, and so the Elf made his way to the warrior's side, sensing the young man might do something rash.           

When Eomer moved as if to approach her, Legolas circled behind the man and placed a hand upon his shoulder, startling the warrior into drawing his blade. Legolas held up a finger to silence the young lord before he might speak, and nodded in the direction of the woman.

            "Who is she?" Eomer whispered, his words strangely urgent and so low that none but the Elf might hear him.

            Legolas smiled, his eyes thoughtful. "I know not."

            "But she is an Elf," the man insisted. "I have seen her face, and no race besides your own can claim such radiance."

            Legolas arched an eyebrow at him, but the lord did not have even the decency to flush, for his eyes were already resting upon the cloaked woman once more, as if drawn against his will.

            "While I would love to say such a statement was true, I cannot," Legolas finally said. "There are others who walk this world that are as fair as my kind, though they are few."

            Eomer grunted in response, his attention wholly upon the woman. "Why do the horses of my people follow her?"

            "I do not know, perhaps you should ask her," Legolas replied. "I am more interested in finding out how she is able to heal by touch. Such a feat is not simple or even well known, and in fact I had thought only the Istari capable of such things."

            Eomer frowned at him. "You think she is a wizard?"

            Legolas shrugged. "I have never heard of a wizard such as her, but if she were one, Gandalf would know of her."

            "Should we take her to see the Grey Pilgrim, then?" Eomer mused.

            "There is no need for that," a melodious voice calmly answered him. "I can assure you I am no wizard, and I am no threat to you."

            Both Elf and Man turned in surprise, for they had not known she was aware of their presence, and they beheld the cloaked woman as she watched them from the shadows of her disguise, one hand absently stroking the forehead of a horse that had drawn alongside her.

            "Perhaps you are no wizard, but how do we know you are no threat to us?" Legolas demanded, annoyed that he had not heard her approach because he had been too engrossed in his own musings while he spoke with Eomer.

            The woman gave a slight laugh that was musical and light, and brought to mind fields of sunlit flowers. "Why would I heal your men if I were your enemy?"

            "To deceive us into trusting you," the Elf immediately replied, feeling uncharacteristically on edge.

            The woman stiffened at the bluntness of his words, and her voice was considerably less friendly when she said, "I have no desire to earn your trust, boy, nor do I wish to speak with you any longer."

            Legolas watched in surprised silence as she spun around and walked away from them, her back stiff with anger.

            Eomer turned startled eyes to him and said, "She called _you _a boy, as if you were but a child to her."

            Legolas, who had been thinking the same thing, said only, "Perhaps I am."  


	6. Dreaming

**A/N: I do not own LOTR its characters or settings. Anything new is mine.  
**

* * *

Liathandrial was exhausted when she returned to her room in the city of Helm's Deep. Mithrandir was nowhere in sight, but she had not expected him to be. He had his own chambers adjoined to hers so that no one would look in on her, but he was undoubtedly visiting with his allies. She was too tired to use her magic to return to the shape of Athan, and so she barred her door and fell into bed, her weariness so great that she felt as if she were suffocating from it.

Healing had always required more of her strength then killing, but she never turned away from those in need, even if it drained every last ounce of her strength. Even her anger at that arrogant young Elf was unable to hold her attention in her current weakened state.

She fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. At first she dreamed of nothing out of turn, beautiful meadows and rivers she had played in as a child in the lands of the Valar. But then, inevitably, she sensed the arrival of another presence in her dream, and she knew he had come.

He always came, which was why she almost never slept, for in sleeping she dreamed, and was defenseless against him.

Liathandrial turned slowly to face the being she sensed behind her, and as she had feared, it was he. Sauron. Tall as a giant and so handsome he was terrifying. Some part of her knew he was no longer so unbearably fair, that he had been burned years ago and lost his divine visage. Yet this was how she always pictured him, as he had looked in their time together at Minas Tirith.

His eyes were blue and green as the wildest forests and deepest oceans. His hair was golden like the sun, and his skin bronzed. His body was nothing short of a work of art: broad of shoulder and chest with narrow hips and muscular legs. But it was his face, his oh so perfect face, that betrayed his celestial blood with its sharp cheekbones, chiseled nose and sensual mouth.

He smiled at her and swept her a bow, as he had done a thousand times in the past and in her dreams, and she tried to resist the lure of him, but knew she would fail. It was why she always ran from him, waking or dreaming. She was not strong enough to face him, not in the ways that counted. Perhaps on a raw power based level she could challenge him, but he owned far too much of her for her to defy him in close quarters, and she feared if she were to face him she would fall as she had so long ago.

"It has been a while, but you still shame the very stars," he whispered, his voice rich and deep, at once magnetic and compelling, seeming to stroke her where she stood. She had always loved his voice.

"Why are you here?" she asked in despair, wanting to find only peace, knowing she could never have it with him.

"Because you are here," was his simple response.

She was going to tell him to leave, to be gone from her dreams and let her rest in peace, but then he took a step closer to her and reached out with his wonderful hands to caress her cheek.

"So beautiful," he murmured before bowing his head to kiss her.

It was earth shattering, as always. Her body came alive in his hands and he trembled beneath her touch. It had always been this way between them: an obsessive overwhelming heat that defied logic and demanded they obey their desires, no matter what their beliefs and wishes might be. It was ironic that they were destined to be enemies, and yet had never been able to get enough of each other.

She wondered if he dreamed of her, as she dreamed of him.

And then as the kiss deepened, she thought of nothing at all save him, and their love. He made love to her with slow, sweet, consummate skill, undoubtedly learned over centuries of decadent living and yet she knew with her it was different.

As he caressed her body and moved above her, his expression was one of aching tenderness, his words soft and worshipful as he whispered, "I love you."

It was a lie, of course. She knew that very well. If he truly loved her, he would never have sent her away from Minas Tirith. His own servant had told her Sauron had lost interest in her, but this was a dream after all, and she was very well aware that even though he had not loved her for ages, she had never stopped loving him.

But she could not give him the words, not even in her dreams. She would never surrender to him completely, not as she had so long ago. She did not return his declaration of love, even when his smile became touched with sadness.

For what seemed like an eternity he adored her body with his own, bringing them both to a mutual state of exquisite pleasure again and again. And then, at last, he simply held her. The silence between them was at once comfortable and yet fraught with unspoken feelings and thoughts.

Because it was a dream, Liathandrial allowed herself the bittersweet pleasure of burying her face in the hollow of his neck. His arms held her so securely, as if he would protect her from the evils of the world. It was the greatest of ironies, considering he was one of the most terrible evil forces to ever roam Middle Earth. And yet still she loved him.

Tears of sorrow and self loathing flowed down her cheeks as he held her to him, and he began to stroke her hair to soothe her.

"Why do you cry?" he asked his voice rife with concern.

Another damn deception.

"I do not wish to speak of it," she replied, her own voice firm despite the tears she shed.

Sauron tensed a moment, as if to argue with her. This was her dream, she had no wish to argue with him in this fantasy world, but she would not tell him how she felt as if she betrayed the very world itself every time she allowed him to hold her in his arms and make love to her. She despised herself and him to an extent.

To her relief, her dream Sauron acted as the real Sauron would have done, so long ago, before he had abandoned her. He simply said, "Alright, if that is what you wish. Sleep now, nothing will harm you while I am here."

She almost laughed at the absurdity of his words. Almost nothing _could_ harm her, save him. And he did irreparable damage to her every time he came to her this way, though she knew he was unaware of that fact since he was only a figment of her dreams. Besides, how could she possibly fall asleep when she was already dreaming?

But she obeyed his gentle command and closed her eyes, breathing in his unique scent and forcing herself to relax against him, until at last a merciful darkness claimed her.

* * *

When she awoke that afternoon, she felt remarkably rested, but was nonetheless embarrassed by her dream. She called upon Elbereth and under the cover of the goddess' watchful eye; she resumed the form of Athan.

Mithrandir was still absent from his chambers, and so she sought him out, down the great lengths of Helm's Deep, to where King Théoden held counsel with Mithrandir. As she glided into the room, she became aware of the presence of other people besides the Istari. There was a Dwarf and a few Men, and the annoying Elf from the night before.

He looked up with his keen eyes as she alighted upon the back of a chair in the hall, but she would not look upon him, her attention instead turned to the wizard who was even then speaking.

"I will ride now for Isengard. Let those who would come with me make haste, for it is my wish to ride under the cover of shadow," the Istari declared, before turning to stride from the room.

His sharp gaze landed upon her for a moment, and then Athan was at his side as he departed from the room, and in his wake came his companions. The sun was already descending in the sky as they took to the road, Athan flying high above them, keeping watch for enemies.

But there were none, the ancient forest had devoured them all, and when the Riders came to it they halted as if in fear, though Athan flew ahead into the dark wood, unafraid. And Gandalf followed in her wake, also unafraid, and behind him came the other Riders, and the wood parted to form a path for them so they might pass.

Athan was surrounded by a feeling of peace, for the forest recognized her as friend and indeed knew what she was where none other but Mithrandir knew her. Below her she could hear the troublesome Elf speaking at length with the Dwarf, and when he voiced a desire to spend more time among the woods, she could sympathize with his wishes, for the trees of this forest were old and wise. And when the Elf spoke of how they did not hate all creatures on two legs but rather Orcs, she began to have a grudging respect for the Elf.

Legolas, he was called by the Dwarf whom he hailed as Gimli, who was now speaking of the caves of Helm's Deep and the wonders of the earth. She knew the heart of Arda as well as she knew it's forests, for she had run the paths deep below the planet's surface for years, and she could agree with young Gimli that there were wonders to be seen beneath the ground. But there were terrors to be found there as well, creatures of great evil that hid from the light of day and awaited the call of their master to return to the surface.

After a time, the company passed through the forest and came to the bottom of the Coomb. Athan was the last to leave the trees, for she knew not when she would walk through this forest again, and it was then that she felt the approach of the herdsmen.

Behind her she heard Legolas cry out about the eyes in the trees, and Gandalf counsel him to stay back. She watched as the Ents called out to their compatriots and were answered, and began to march back to the wood. But one paused not far from the eyes of the Riders, and turned to where she flew among the trees.

Deep, wise eyes studied her, and then the Ent called out, in tones both ancient and full, "Hmm, hmm. Well met, daughter of the West. Your presence has not been felt in an age. It gladdens my heart to see you."

"Well met, shepherd of the forest," she returned, as was only polite. "I have forgotten the beauty of your home, and will surely return to it once this dark time has passed."

The Ent's brow furrowed with worry. "Hrum, indeed, that is why we have left our forests. We can longer leave the battle to the other Children."

"Such is the reason you see me here," she agreed. "But already my companions ride on, and I must go. Take care, watcher of the woods."

"Go with Iluvatar, hrum hmm, daughter of the Vanyar," he returned, before continuing on his way into the forest.

Athan watched him leave, loathe to part from his company, pleased to have been recognized and longing for the companionship of others like her. But she could not turn her back on her duty, and so she flew from the forest, and once more joined Mithrandir's party, circling above them as they drew near the Fords.


	7. The Road To Isengard

**A/N: I do not own LOTR, its characters or settings. Anything new is mine!**

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While the Riders rode across the land to the Fords, Athan soared through the air. The sky, which had once been free and clean, now was crowded with the presence of black-winged birds. And yet they fled at her approach, though the braver among them circled around her and called out with jeering cries, none dared bar her path. Below her, the waters of Isen ran dry, and she knew anger and sorrow to see the land so twisted.

She watched as Gandalf and the Riders paused beside a mound piled high with spears and stones, and she kept one eye on the wolves that crawled about in the darkness, driven back by Mithrandir's shining presence but still prowling. The Riders paused to give farewell to the fallen, and then crossed the river.

Onward they rode for many leagues, until they drew into the shadow of the Misty Mountains. Athan could see a dark smoke ahead, and because it had been an age since she had come to this part of Middle Earth, she was outraged by it. But before she could fly onward to investigate, she heard a sharp whistle from Gandalf, and she glanced down to see him gazing up at her.

With reluctance she descended, wanting to see what awaited them in the vale, but as she alighted upon Mithrandir's arm, she heard the words of the Men as they tried to discover what the wizard Saruman was about.

She agreed with Aragorn when he said it seemed as if the entire Wizard's Vale was burning. She dismissed Eomer's theory that Curunir might be boiling the waters. Certainly the Istari would never do such a thing…

She settled down to rest for the night, but did not sleep, and when the watchmen cried out, she was already aware of the approaching darkness that had frightened the guards. Black it was and full of voices, but Athan felt no fear.

Still, she took to the sky once and scanned the countryside, but found no evidence of a threat to the Riders.

Later that night, the Isen was restored in a rush of water until it swelled back to its original sate, as it had ever been.

She heard the men whisper in fear, and sensed their unease, and she wondered at their lack of faith in their guide, for few could match the Istari in might, and even among themselves the wizards were evenly matched.

At dawn, the Riders rose and made ready to leave. The air was heavy with fog, and yet Athan could see through it clearly, and what she beheld in the Wizard's Vale stunned and angered her. Where once the land had been lush and green, now it was dark and riddled with brambles, the only remains of the trees were blackened stumps. The land itself seemed to weep with pain, and in her heart Athan felt despair and wrath, and she shrieked to the heavens in her outrage.

As if in answer to her call, the mists cleared and she could see the silhouette of Isengard and before the Riders there rose the pillar of the Hand. Gandalf rode beyond it without pause and Athan circled round the Hand in disdain. She was caught off guard when it turned from purest white to foulest red, but unafraid, knowing it was only the truth revealing itself.

And onward they rode until at last they came to the doors of Isengard, and beheld the ruin of the land. The doors were shattered, the great arch that served as the only entrance stood, but the tunnel beyond it was decimated. The ring beyond the gate was seething with water that covered the roads and carried with it the remains of Isengard. Athan knew that somehow Saruman had been brought low, but how she could not say, and yet in the distance the tower of Orthanc yet stood.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a bright voice below, and her attention was turned back to the Riders. A child was facing them, his voice full of laughter and mischief, and she had to wonder what he was doing out here alone. She swooped down for a closer look and then drew up short in surprise, for it was no child that Gandalf addressed.

She listened as he introduced himself and his companion and then proceeded to laugh and joke with Mithrandir and the Riders. So these were Hobbits, then? They looked like children of Man and behaved in a similar fashion, with ready smiles and quick wit. Yet when they spoke of Treebeard, she was immediately pleased, for she had known the great Ent in the past, and had enjoyed his company.

She was not surprised to hear Gandalf mention he wished to see Treebeard as well, but once the Hobbit known as Merry said the Ent was at the northern wall, she immediately flew in that direction, longing to have a moment of privacy with the Herdsman so that she might greet him freely and he would not reveal her secret by mistake.

The Ent was standing watch by the wall, his ancient gaze sadly perusing the land, when she caught sight of him.

"Hail Treebeard of the Ents," she called out in his native tongue.

He looked up to the sky in surprise. "Hoom! How is it a bird of the skies knows how to speak in the words of my people?"

She drifted around his head and said, "Your people are well known to me, as I am known to them."

"I do not recall hearing of a shining bird on our list of friends," he guardedly replied.

And then she descended until she was of a height with his eyes, and their gazes met, and he laughed in delight. "It is you, child! It has been an age since I have seen you, and never in this guise. What brings you to this desolate place?"

"I have come with the wizard Mithrandir," she replied. "Might I land?"

"Oh, hrum hum, of course," he answered, gesturing at his broad shoulders. "Gandalf has returned then?"

Athan alighted upon his sturdy shoulder. "He is on his way to you even now, and he is not alone. Men are with him."

"What times these are," Treebeard mused as he stared down at her with his ancient eyes. "I never thought to see the day you would journey in the company of Men."

"I journey in the company of Mithrandir," Athan replied. "The Men I tolerate because I must, but I do not travel among them. They have not seen my true nature nor do they know of it, to them I am but a bird, Athan the Shining."

Treebeard chuckled deeply to himself. "You are still traveling under disguise, Liathandrial? It has ever been your way."

She inclined her head in agreement. "It is something I must do; you know that, Old One. Remember, I am Athan to them."

"You need never fear betrayal from me," the Ent assured her.

"I know that, old friend," she returned. "But deception is not in your nature, and yet secrecy is of utmost importance to me. I felt I must warn you of my presence before you discovered it by chance and perhaps revealed the truth of my identity."

"I understand. Lo, here comes the White Rider and his companions now," Treebeard called out.

And over the rise came Gandalf astride Shadowfax, and behind him rode Théoden and his men. The Istari bowed his head in greeting to the Ent, but his eyes were for Athan as he said, "Oh friend of the skies, I ask that you go and watch over the rest of my Company and give warning should they require assistance."

Though she wished to speak with Treebeard a while longer, she knew it would be impossible now, and so for the moment she complied with Mithrandir's wishes, taking to the sky and flying to where Aragorn and the rest of the Riders sat talking by the ruined gates of Isengard.

They looked up as she drew near, and she heard the Hobbits shout in surprise.

"Do not fear, little ones, she is a friend," Aragorn assured them. "She is Athan the Shining, friend of Gwaihir the Windlord, sent to aid our cause."

"She is beautiful," the Hobbit called Pippin said.

Athan turned then in his direction and slowly descended from the sky.

"What is she doing?" Pippin called out.

"Apparently she heard you and has taken a liking to you," Aragorn laughed. "She seeks to land on your arm."

Pippin's eyes widened and then he held up his arm. Athan gracefully alighted upon it and then stared down at him with her endless eyes. From close range, he exuded an innocence she had not thought possible.

"May I pet her?" he wondered aloud.

Athan was startled by his wanting to do so, but she gave a low cry and then lowered her head down so he might stroke her feathers.

"It seems so," Aragorn answered, though his eyes were puzzled. He had not known the bird could understand everything being said to it. He had thought it could understand Gandalf because of the wizard's magic, yet Gandalf was not here and the bird could still understand Pippin.

Legolas, too, was eyeing the great bird in curiosity.

Gimli, who had seen a great many strange things in the passing days, was more interested in speaking with his long lost friends rather then studying a bird. He quickly picked up the conversation once more, turning their thoughts to food.


	8. At Orthanc

**A/N: I do not own LOTR, its characters or settings. Anything new belongs to me. I have decided to base this story more on the books then the movies.**

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Once it was decided by the waiting Riders that they would eat, the Hobbits led them into the shell of a guard house. Athan took wing and flew up into the rafters, to keep one eye on the mortals and another on the sky. Though it seemed as if Curunir had been subdued, she knew from experience that the Istari were not to be underestimated, and she was on edge in this broken land.

She watched as the Hobbits and the Riders ate and exchanged pleasantries, and despite herself there was a softening in her heart. She felt love for most things of Arda, even those of a darker nature, because of her tie to the Flame. Even as the Creator loved all things he had made, so did she love them. But those of a good heart and a kind spirit drew her as nothing else could, and in the Hobbits she sensed a purity and openness that was disarming.

When the party moved outside, she quietly floated in their wake to land upon the remains of the roof, but they took no note of her presence having forgotten her in their happiness at being reunited, and for that she was grateful. She listened intently as the Hobbits began to tell the tale of their capture by the Orcs.

She narrowed her eyes at mention of them, for they were dark and given to cruelty and she had crossed paths with the Orcs many times in her life. They were one of the few creatures she felt no love for. She listened with greater interest to Merry's mention of staying in Treebeard's home, Wellinghall. She had never been privileged enough to visit the place, and was most curious about their time there, thus she was disappointed when the Hobbit spoke of it only in passing. She supposed such a being would appreciate the places similar to his own home more then an ancient forest dwelling, but to her such places were fascinating.

Athan nearly fell from her perch when the Hobbit spoke of the Huorns, for se had seen the dark trees but once, centuries ago, and it had been a brief sighting. To think she had missed crossing paths with them by mere days! The idea was disappointing. The Huorns were children of the land though they had run wild, and she would have loved to speak with them. And then it occurred to her that the presence she had felt outside of Helm's Deep, oddly familiar but yet unknown, must have been the Huorns. A few of them must have made the journey to Helm's Deep.

She listened with interest as Pippin described the fall of the gates, the attack on Orthanc, and the appearance of Gandalf to Treebeard. She realized he had not been entirely truthful with her earlier when he had said he had nothing to do with the forest outside of Helm's Deep, and it annoyed her though she could not blame him for keeping his secrets to himself. Still, it made trusting the Istari difficult, when she was hesitant to put faith in most beings outside of Valinor.

She would deal with the wizard when the time came, if it proved necessary. Perhaps he had feared being overheard by spies of the dark who lingered on the battlefield, one could not be certain with Mithrandir. For now she would follow him, because the Flame bid her to, and while she might doubt those who dwelled on Arda, she did not doubt the land itself.

When Gandalf and Théoden reappeared, she took to the sky and made for them, arriving long before the Riders, and while she was troubled by her recent thoughts on Gandalf, she descended to his side nonetheless, alighting upon his shoulder as he turned to nod a greeting to her.

She remained silent when Mithrandir said he would go to speak with Curunir, though she wondered if he might consider leaving her behind since it was likely the other wizard would know who she was. Part of her was full of caution, uncertain if she should appear before an ally of Sauron's. Doubtless Morgoth thought she was still roaming the heart of Arda with Torsyl, and it had served her purposes to have him think such.

In the end, she decided it best to remain with Gandalf, as her instincts advised her to. She watched with indifference as it was decided that Aragorn, Théoden, Eomer, Legolas and Gimli would accompany Mithrandir.

But the Hobbit Pippin startled her when he walked to Gandalf's side and said, "I will look after the bird while you are speaking to Saruman, Master Gandalf."

But Mithrandir did not hand her down, instead shaking his head and saying, "Thank you young Pippin, but Athan will stay with me. Saruman is not to be trusted, and her eyes see that which my own might not."

It was truth and yet not, and Athan glanced at the Istari with shaming eyes though she remained still upon his shoulder. The Hobbit merely nodded and then moved to rejoin his companion.

"Perhaps you should keep watch from above," Mithrandir murmured beneath his breath so that only Athan might hear him. "I knew who you were the moment I saw you, though you were in the form of Legend at the time. I cannot say if Saruman will know you in this form, but he might."

Athan understood his concerns, and so took to the sky immediately, circling to the very top of Orthanc and alighting upon its great spire. She watched Gandalf knocked upon the door of Orthanc, and glared when at last the figure of Curunir appeared, his treacherous voice preceding him. She listened as he attempted to cozen the Men with his sweet words and his deceptive air. She herself was immune to his power, having been seduced by a far greater manipulator in the past she was no longer susceptible to such subterfuge.

She watched with interest as the Men struggled against his manipulations, her opinion of Eomer rising when that Man had the wherewithal to defy Curunir. But it was Théoden's denouncement of Saruman that made her understand man had come a long way over the years, and there was hope for his future after all. At last the façade of Saruman cracked and he began to rant at the Men, until he turned his charm upon Mithrandir.

But Athan had no fear the Istari would be turned by honeyed words, for she knew him to be wise. But still she watched with wary eyes, for she did not trust Curunir, who she could clearly see was lost to the thrall of the Dark. When Gandalf broke Saruman's staff a glowing orb fell from the Tower, and she felt a great unease, and paid no mind to Curunir as he crawled from sight.

Instead she looked down upon Pippin as he retrieved the orb, and when Gandalf moved to claim it she at last flew down from her perch, sensing in it the presence of Sauron, he who she feared above all others save his Master. Gandalf glanced up as she winged by, and there was understanding in his eyes, they both felt the black power the orb emanated.

She settled upon his shoulder as he made counsel with Treebeard, the Ent did not as much as glance at her though she knew he was aware of her presence. She had been surprised Saruman had failed to sense her, his powers had faded with his corruption it seemed, and he had been more intent upon swaying the enemies he could see rather then searching for the ones he could not.

But when Gandalf turned to ride from Treebeard's company, she moved to the Ent's side, descending upon the hand he held up to her. Gandalf rode on, and the Ent walked away from the Riders, carrying her back into the circle of the Ents. Many of them did not know her, but those that did drew near.

"Daughter of the West," one said in solemn tones. "It has been a long time since you have walked among us."

"And the company of your kind has been missed, Birchbough," she assured him. "But please, do not call me by any name, for none of my party know who I am save Gandalf, and I would have it remain thus for now."

The great tree eyed her for a moment and then sighed. "Hoom hoom, these are strange, dark times indeed. I suppose it would be for the best if the wizard in the Tower did not know who you were."

Athan turned back to Treebeard and said, "I have heard there were those among you who were injured in the attack upon Saruman. I wish to see to their wounds."

Treebeard frowned in concern, glancing at the forbidding outline of the Tower. "Would that be wise?"

"Saruman is of no concern to me any longer, he has turned to the dark and I have my own way of dealing with those who serve the Enemy," she assured him.

"Hoom, as you wish," Treebeard consented, turning to Birchbough. "Take her to the wounded."

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Pippin had watched Treebeard carry Gandalf's companion off and, thinking the wizard might miss her, had decided to retrieve her from the Ents. Merry had of course decided to follow him, since the two of them were virtually inseparable. They could not cover as much ground as the Ents, and so when Treebeard handed her to Birchbough and the Ent had carried her away from the Tower of Orthanc, they were hard pressed to keep up with him.

"Do you think this is a good idea, Pip," Merry muttered. "I'm thinking the bird can find its way back to Gandalf."

"But what if she can't Merry," Pippin replied. "She doesn't know this land, and if he goes indoors she might become separated from the rest of the party."

"That might happen to us if we wander too far chasing after a bird," Merry grumbled to himself.

Pippin ignored him, his thoughts on the shining bird that he had only recently come to know. The truth was, he had become fascinated by Athan the moment he saw her, and once she had landed on his arm, the strangest feeling of peace had come over him. She had looked at him with eyes that reminded him of Treebeard's, endless and wise. The contact had only lasted briefly, but he had felt kindness in her, and he had been drawn to the bird so that she had remained in the back of his mind.

He could not allow her to be separated from Gandalf; he somehow sensed she was very important to the wizard. "Hurry up, Merry, or we'll lose them!"


End file.
